


And None Above All The Others

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-23
Updated: 2010-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>12262 words, of which I swear I only intended to write 2000 or so ... in which Arthur is the Prince of Self-Restraint, Merlin is outed as the staringest starer in Camelot, Morgana uses reverse psychology and Gwen is totally the Jeeves to everyone else's Wooster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And None Above All The Others

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineptshieldmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I feel it's worth pointing out that if I owned the BBC's Merlin then I probably wouldn't be posting stories about it for everyone to see - I'd be writing NEEDS MOAR GAY on the front page of every copy of the script that the writers left lying around.
> 
> Ineptshieldmaid introduced me to Merlin fandom some time ago by showering me with fic links and going 'OMG YOU MUST READ THIS'. Then she succumbed to my desperate-fangirl pleading and mailed me Merlin DVDs so that I could actually WATCH the series I'd become obsessed with, in return for which she asked for OT4 fic. I originally intended to write short smutty porn. Then I intended to write something short and silly. Those of you who've read my Narnia fic will by now be shaking your heads at my innocence, for it's been demonstrated many times that I am _incapable_ of writing something short. However, you'll also be pleasantly surprised to note that this took only a couple of months, rather than the six-plus months that fic USUALLY takes to churn out. SO! This fic, both silly and smutty but not short, is a present/payment for Ineptshieldmaid for introducing me to this lovely, adorable, cracky tart of a fandom. And also for supplying the title of this fic.
> 
> Beta-read by Bridget despite her not knowing the canon, because she is a saint. Hopefully, though, I will be able to remedy her not having seen Merlin soon. Mwahahaha.
> 
> This is set during some undefined time-period after 'The Moment of Truth'.
> 
> It occurs to me that if left to myself I write the most incredibly, stupidly long headers for fics and that possibly I should try and curb my explanatory enthusiasm in the future ...

Things don't always go exactly how Arthur plans. It should not be so bloody difficult for a prince to talk to a maid, for heaven's sake.

But Morgana's swept Guinevere away every single time Arthur's attempted to corner the girl alone. For heaven's sake, all he wants to do is enquire about getting a sword made by her father; the royal armourer's work is good, of course, but Arthur's seen a few of Tom's blades and with tournaments coming up he'd like to try one - they look well-balanced and dependable. And he wants to be discreet about it, because the royal armourer is a touchy bastard and isn't fond of competition.

So of course he can't just march down to the town and bang on Tom's forge door - either the real purpose of the visit would be gossiped around town until it reached the ears of the touchy bastard in question, or _other_ reasons the prince could be visiting the blacksmith could be gossiped about - these days the only reason Arthur ever has reason to wander around Camelot's town is if he's sniffing around for enchantresses and the like - and that would hardly be to the benefit of Tom _or_ his daughter. And Morgana has bleated on so cursed much about how discreet and wonderful _her_ maidservant is, mostly when Arthur's been expressing honest doubts about the efficiency, sanity and general hygiene of the idiot his father has lumbered him with.

Is it any wonder Arthur came to the conclusion that getting Gwen to have a word with her old dad would be the best solution all round?

But no. Lady High-And-Mighty has apparently come to the conclusion that Arthur has some _unsavoury_ interest in Gwen, and is now contriving at all costs to keep them apart. It is most frustrating, especially given he _doesn't_ have the interests she's accusing him of.

Honestly, does he look like the kind of prince who'd despoil his foster-sister's unwilling maidservant?

_Willing_ maidservant would be an entirely different matter, of course; she's a pretty thing. But then again, tumbling servants leads to Problems of the sort his father told him about when he was thirteen, to their mutually ear-burning embarrassment. He tends to get out most of his frustrations of that kind on the training-grounds, and if he takes it out on his knights, well, they eventually thank him for it when they're miraculously not eaten by the ravening Rabbit of Caerbannog or whatever particular horror takes it into its head to attack the kingdom this week.

Some of them attempt to get him to work out his frustrations on them in a rather more personal and presumably less bruising and muscle-straining way, or at least a way that involves less chainmail, but that kind of arrangement has its downsides as well, albeit downsides that don't actually result in illegitimate offspring. Suffice to say Arthur has gently, firmly or on occasion violently rebuffed all of these advances.

Long story short, Arthur's liasons are remarkable in only one particular, which is that they're all entirely imaginary. He occasionally wishes that there was someone of a mildly attractive nature, willing, and somehow neither likely to attempt to bend his ear on political or military matters nor to conceive and then deliver sundry unfortunate offspring upon the world, that he could persuade to share his admittedly extremely large bed, but clearly such a person does not actually exist.

A knock on the door brings Arthur back to the present. Merlin slips into the room.

'While I'm pleased to see that you've mastered knocking,' Arthur says, rolling his eyes mainly because he enjoys the exasperated look that crosses Merlin's face when he does, 'it is incumbent upon me to point out that there is in fact a second step to the whole thing, which is to _wait until you're asked to enter_. Otherwise the whole point of the exercise is lost.'

'Sorry, sorry,' Merlin says, ducking his head in order to hide the frustrated expression that Arthur knows is there. Merlin goes to stoke the fire, and Arthur straightens his nightshirt and waits expectantly to be dressed for the day.

It is during the normally quite awkward moment where Merlin essentially has his arms around Arthur, trying and failing to be brisk and, e.g. not accidentally grope Arthur as he gets the belt on, when Arthur suddenly has an idea.

'Morgana's maid,' he says thoughtfully, and then 'Oh, for Heaven's sake, Merlin, how do you even manage to dress yourself? Look, just ... there, yes, thank you, I can probably take it from here. Anyway. Morgana's maid.'

'Gwen?'

'Yes, Gwen. Guinevere. You and she are friends, aren't you?'

'Yes?'

'Well, either you are or you aren't, Merlin.'

'Yes, then. Why, Ar- sire?'

'I need a word with her, and I'm having trouble talking Morgana around. I don't suppose you could, I don't know, ask her to visit you in your room, after her duties one evening? And I could just ... pop round?'

Merlin's expression is one of utter disbelief. 'You want me to ask a _girl_ to my room. After work.'

'What's the matter?' Arthur asks longsufferingly. 'You should be well past the age of thinking girls have some kind of contagious disease, you know.'

'What's the _matter_? She'll think I mean _things_ by it! Gaius will think I mean things by it! _Morgana_ will think I mean things by it!' Merlin is clearly terrified of the prospect of Morgana's righteous anger. Come to think of it, Arthur isn't surprised. But that's not the point here.

'I'll deal with Morgana,' he says loftily. 'And you can just explain to Gaius and Gwen that it's nothing like that, surely? Please, Merlin?' Arthur looks at him through lowered eyelashes, a lopsided, pleading smile on his face. He knows this expression works, he's used it often. Arthur is very good at getting what he wants.

And Merlin, it seems, is the complete pushover Arthur knew he would be, and says yes.

***

'Morgana, I can explain,' is the first thing Arthur says when Morgana storms into Merlin's tiny room and sees Merlin, Gwen and Arthur sitting on or around the tiny bed. He then kicks himself, mentally, for saying something that sounds so guilty. 'I mean, how dare you break into my manservant's private quarters?' Indignation on the part of someone he spends so much time lambasting does not come entirely naturally to Arthur. Merlin shoots him a look that says _honestly, you prat_. Arthur resolves to make all of his boots extra muddy and to really make a serious effort to dent his pauldrons at some point in the next week, just to punish him.

'My lady, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you needed-'

'I hardly think this is your fault, Gwen. Or yours, Merlin,' Morgana adds, as the aforementioned scarecrow scrambles to his feet. She narrows her eyes at Arthur. 'Why exactly are you closeting yourself with servants at ungodly hours?'

'I-'

'Because I take the solicitation of my maid extremely poorly,' she says. As if he doesn't know that. And, hang on, solicitation?

'It's not like-'

'And getting your own manservant involved is not only perverted, it's perverse. If you're interested in _him_ I'm sure no-one will mind. To be completely honest I think Uther will rejoice, he's been muttering about your lack of 'normal desires' for quite some time, and as long as you're not producing bastard sons I don't think he cares one whit what you do with whom. But if you are interested in him, then for God's sake stop torturing the poor boy with your chainmail all the time. And don't think you're getting my maid involved!'

Morgana's eyes sweep the minute chamber, and Arthur's follow. He realises with an internal wince that it's been quite warm in here with three of them on a hot summer night with the door shut (because there's no reason to deprive Gaius of his sleep, although apparently Morgana thought nothing of that, and the physician is standing at the threshold blinking owlishly at them all in the candlelight), and there are a number of items of outer clothing on the floor - his coat and Merlin's kerchief, for a start, and Gwen's cloak (they'd caught her just as she was about to head home) - and that there's half a flagon of wine on the pillow that he'd brought to try and ease the situation, because Gwen still hasn't been entirely easy with him after the whole 'witchcraft' accusation thing and he'd just wanted to ask her a favour, no harm in being nice, now, is there?

And maybe the room does smell a bit of wine, and maybe they have all had a bit to drink. And he and Merlin are a little rumpled after he'd taken a mocking swing at the idiot over some joke and the idiot in question had flung himself backwards, clipping the stool Gwen was sitting in and tipping the laughing girl onto the dusty floor ... In short, they all look thoroughly dishevelled._ But it's all completely innocent!_ his brain shouts desperately at him.

'All right,' he says weakly, after Morgana meets his eyes with a 'well, I'm still waiting for this explanation' look on her face. 'Well, firstly, I'm despoiling neither my servant nor yours, so you can get that idea out of your head right away.' The disbelieving expression she levels at him is a spur. He reacts with 'Look, Morgana, you can't just go stomping around the castle demanding entrance to people's rooms. Look at poor Gaius over there!'

Gaius raises an eyebrow wearily. Arthur remembers that eyebrow from his childhood. It is a force to be reckoned with. The eyebrow heralds lack of sympathy for embellished tummyaches and a certain amount of being forced to tell the truth for your own good. In this case it is followed with a 'Poor Gaius over here would like very much to get back to his bed. Perhaps this conversation could be continued later, sire? Morgana?'

Merlin is gathering up Arthur's discarded coat, having put his kerchief back on and handed Gwen her cloak. Gwen darts an apologetic, slightly hopeless look back at Arthur as she is shepherded from the room by Morgana in full skirt-sweeping mode. Arthur's exit is slightly less grandiose, preceded as he is by someone who manages to trip over a bucket on his way out.

'Try to miss that on your way back in,' says Gaius as he closes the door behind them. From the look on his face, he doesn't hold out great hopes for this.

'Morgana!' Arthur calls, striding forward and catching up with her. She manages to sweep her skirt in front of Gwen, shielding her from Arthur. This is getting out of hand, honestly. 'Let the poor girl go home, for heaven's sake.'

'I could say the same for you. Keeping her up at all hours.'

'My lady, I -'

'It's alright, Gwen, you don't have to defend him.'

Arthur has to resist the urge to slap his forehead at the sheer amount of stupidity and confusion that one simple, should-have-been-easily-granted desire to have a bloody _sword_ is causing. And he didn't even get to ask her about it, he remembers, exasperated. No matter. Deal with the issue at hand. He is about to explain in calm, measured tones when Merlin beats him to it.

'We were just talking,' he says defensively. This is the wrong tone to take. Arthur can see it is the wrong tone by the way Morgana's eyes widen, and he grabs Merlin around the shoulders and steers him away before she can erupt. He'll explain it to her later. Tomorrow, rather than in the middle of the night. He hears a miffed exhalation of breath and the swish of fabric that tells him she's walked away as he herds Merlin down the corridor.

'You have _no_ sense of self-preservation,' Arthur says as he closes the door behind them and takes his coat away from Merlin, who is fumbling with it in an irritating manner. 'It's just as well for you that I'm always here to save you.'

Merlin snorts. It is the kind of snort that denotes deeply held feeling, rather than a throw-away snort of the sort you'd give after hearing, for example, a mildly dirty joke. It is a snort that says 'Oh, you are _so_ wrong.' He's picking up items of day-to-day debris, putting things away mildly haphazardly, with Arthur's discarded shirt from this morning's practice draped over his shoulder, no doubt to be washed tomorrow, and his head is down and his face is turned away, but Merlin definitely snorted at the suggestion that Arthur has to save him.

The room smells of lavender and day-old sweat and just a hint of the wine that must have come in with them.

'Do you disagree?' Arthur says archly, edging closer to Merlin and eyeing the rumpled edge of his tunic and the sliver of pale skin revealed there. He considers dumping Merlin on his arse, shirtless, as punishment for being flippant about his master, but then again, as they discovered in Merlin's room with Gwen, saucer-eyed and sobbing with giggles, Merlin is extraordinarily ticklish.

'Well, of-' Merlin begins, and Arthur pounces.

There is undignified squeaking. Arthur begins to wonder exactly how cheap a drunk his manservant is. But it doesn't matter, because Arthur's had enough wine for this to be fun, and so they roll across the floor, Arthur mercilessly tickling Merlin and laughing uproariously at the noises he makes. They halt when they hit the edge of Arthur's bed with a thump. Merlin has somehow ended up on top, but he is breathless with giggling and trying to fight off the infinitely superior-at-combat Arthur, and so he has collapsed bonelessly over Arthur's chest, beating weakly at his ribs and gasping 'Let me go, you great and terrible prat, let me go,'

Arthur smiles, lips against Merlin's hair. Merlin looks up at him, ridiculously close, eyes a brilliant blue, lashes longer than Morgana's, and ... then suddenly Merlin is scrambling off and away.

'I've, um, bed, got to, bed. Laundry, shirt, very important, got to get that, uh, bye!'

And before Arthur can even sit up and blink, Merlin is gone. And it is only then that Arthur notices the state of the contents of his trousers. Which Merlin may just possibly have cottoned on to.

'Oh, _bollocks_.'

And now Arthur is going to have to deal with a ridiculously embarrassed servant for _days_. This has happened before - Elaine, the chambermaid who'd looked after his room before Merlin came along, had once had the misfortune of walking in on Arthur letting off steam, as it were, and he'd been unable to get her to meet his eyes for _weeks_ afterwards. In the end he'd managed to arrange to be out of the room every time he knew she was going to come by to deal with his linen - at least that way he knew it would actually get done and that she wouldn't faint with embarrassment at his presence.

And it's going to be worse now - after all, Merlin must have _felt_ the bloody thing. Rolled onto it, in point of fact, and - this train of thought is not helping matters go away, Arthur realises. Sighing, he gets himself undressed and into a nightshirt - yet another thing that's going to get horribly embarrassing for a while until Merlin works out that sometimes people's bodies just _do_ these things - and climbs into bed, where, what with one thing and another, it is easier to just take himself in hand rather than attempt to sleep and ignore the now rather pressing issue.

Whether it's the wine or the lateness of the hour, Arthur doesn't know, but the usual faceless, nameless participants he envisions at these times have somehow morphed into Merlin, Morgana and Gwen. Oh, for the love of - Arthur lets himself go, folds his arms resolutely. He is absolutely not doing this. And his mind and body had best get used to it.

***

'Oh God, oh God, oh God-' Merlin doesn't even realise he's vocalising until he runs into Gwen in the corridor. Literally. And then he's helping her pick up the pile of laundry (_mostly Morgana's lacy underthings, oh God, Merlin, pull yourself together_) and doesn't realise he's _still muttering under his breath_.

'What's the matter?' she asks, cocking her head to one side like a, a goldfinch, or something, sort of adorable and worryingly intelligent, and Merlin ends up spilling the whole tale, because he is a loose-tongued fool, really, and she _laughs_. 'Merlin,' she begins, and then stops. A few sort of wordlike sounds come out, and she seems to be trying to find the right way to say something. Eventually she settles for, 'I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure it was just, you know, one of those ... reaction things.'

Merlin hasn't even noticed he's still holding some sort of frippery until Gwen snags it from his fingers with a smile. 'I'll just be taking these back to Lady Morgana,' she says, and swans off into the torch-lit corridor.

It is only then that he realises she's not wearing her cloak anymore, and what, doesn't she go home anymore? It's the middle of the night and she's just ... collecting her mistress's underwear and delivering it? Merlin knows Morgana changes clothes more times a day than the entirety of Ealdor ever did in a week, but really, does she need changes of unmentionables in the middle of the night? And supervised by Gwen? What could she be _doing_ that ...

Merlin is resolutely Not Thinking About This. Or about Arthur and ten minutes ago and the conjunction of breeches. Portions of his anatomy disagree. He overrules them.

Gaius's knowing look from his bed as Merlin does what he is not calling the Walk of Shame (because _nothing happened_) back to his room is just the dousing of metaphorical cold water he needed, though. Thank heavens, some things don't change.

***

By the next evening, Arthur has decided that the only logical thing to do is to go to Morgana and explain, properly, that everything is completely innocent, because quite a large number of people apparently heard the argument in the corridor last night and some quite _creative_ rumours are circulating about Arthur and his excitingly Continental attitude to the number of servants in his bed, and he's been accosted by two stableboys, his father's secretary's clerk and no fewer than six maids of varying job descriptions, all volunteering obliquely to audition for a spot between the sheets. Arthur, who has never taken a single servant to his bed and does not intend to start doing so now, is rather taken aback by this, and particularly by the sixth maid, whose tactic was quite _direct_. He will never be able to look at a fruit bowl again.

Arthur would never run away from one of his own servants, so what he actually does is effect a strategic withdrawal, and regroups outside Morgana's chambers. He knocks.

'Come in,' calls Morgana. He enters her rooms to find her behind a screen. All he can see is the back of her head, but she turns, and her hair has tumbled down around her shoulders, which are bare, and abruptly he about-faces, because this isn't decent.

'What is it, Arthur?' she asks, and he can _hear_ the smirk in her voice.

'I just thought I ought to inform you that, despite what you think, I'm not actually interested in despoiling your maidservant.'

'My, how formal. And how do I know you're telling the truth?'

'Because I ... what?'

'You could be _lying_,' she points out in a sweet voice. Then, 'Aah, mmm, that's better. Getting out of these corsets is always the best bit -'

Arthur whirls around unintentionally. '_What?_'

'I was speaking to Gwen,' Morgana says. She _is_ smirking. A dark hand waves from behind the screen - Arthur can just about make out the top of Gwen's head. Clearing his throat, he makes himself turn around again. 'Some of us actually do require help to get in and out of our clothing, rather than just making others do it for shamefully selfish reasons,' Morgana continues.

'What _are_ you talking about?'

'I'm merely remarking that I don't quite see the need to have someone help me into my breeches every morning. Poor Merlin. It must be so hard ...'

Arthur is not thinking about Merlin, breeches, and things being hard when he knows that Gwen is closeted with a semi-nude Morgana, behind a screen.

'I swear, as prince of Camelot and on my honour as a knight, that I'm not interested in ravishing your maidservant.'

'Who?' Morgana's voice is wicked. 'She has a name, you know.'

'Oh, for the love of - _Guinevere_! I am not attempting to seduce Guinevere!' With that he stomps out of the room, pretending he can't hear the giggling.

But it doesn't matter, because Arthur has been trained to keep himself under control since birth, mostly so that he could kill things without getting killed himself, admittedly, but there are other applications for iron self-control.

Iron self-control goes out the window a little bit when he gets to his chambers and finds Merlin on the floor staring at a very half-hearted fire. The way the manservant looks up at him, a little bit startled and innocent, strikes a warm little feeling in Arthur's belly. He wants to clap Merlin on the shoulder and have a manly chuckle about yesterday's nonsense, but he suspect that this will not actually help, mostly because it would involve touching, and that would probably be quite distracting. Merlin scrambles to his feet. Arthur is resolutely not noticing the way his manservant's Adam's apple bobs as he tries to work out what to say.

'I was, um-'

Arthur takes refuge, as he so often does when startled, in lordly bearing and a supercilious attitude, something he learnt in equal parts from Uther on his good days and Gaius on his grumpy ones, and says, 'Normally, Merlin, if you want to get a fire going, you'd use the poker.'

'Yes, yes, of course, Arthur, sire, um -'

Merlin is eyeing Arthur as if he's a bear. Or a pot of honey. Perhaps a bear with a pot of honey. Feeling uncomfortable with all the uncomfortableness, Arthur goes to straighten his collar.

Suddenly the fire roars up behind them. Must have been some damp wood or something that's just dried out enough to catch. Hmm. Merlin's eyes are glowing oddly in the firelight. If pushed, not that he's ever actually paid attention, but if pushed, Arthur would have hazarded a guess that his manservant's eyes are blue. Just for a moment there, though, they looked _golden_. And Merlin's mouth is hanging open in a way that has always made Arthur want to forcibly shut it, but ... usually not in the manner he's now contemplating.

Iron self-control. Right.

'I think I'll retire early tonight,' Arthur says, without further ado. 'You're dismissed.'

'Don't you want me to get you ready for bed?' Clearly, Merlin isn't as embarrassed by last night's accident as Arthur had thought he might be. Well, this is an unlooked-for boon. But still, Arthur really doesn't need to be undressed by anyone but himself in his current state. Merlin might get ideas that last night was something other than completely accidental, which it certainly isn't, because accidents do happen, really, and surely Merlin knows about reactions to stimuli and things that happen when you're mildly sloshed and not thinking and someone _rolls on_ portions of your anatomy ... ahem.

'No, I think I can just about manage to get myself into my nightshirt without supervision, thank you Merlin.'

'But-'

'_Thank_ you, Merlin,' says Arthur again pointedly.

When Merlin turns to leave, Arthur finds himself watching the way his manservant's absurdly bony shoulders catch under his absurdly thin shirt. And then he remembers Morgana's shoulders, bare, with her curls falling down around them, and the top of Gwen's head as she helped Morgana with whatever mysterious things girls do when they're getting undressed ... and, oh, for Heaven's sake.

Arthur glares down at his trousers.

Absurd. All of this. Absolutely absurd.

***

Merlin gets up the next morning feeling decidedly unrefreshed by the rather torrid sleep he's managed to snatch. Yesterday, he'd thought to pretend he didn't remember and hopefully somehow that would make things be normal again.

But Arthur'd avoided him all day, and according to Elspeth in the kitchens avoided everyone else as well: apparently Mary had tried to enquire as to what fruit he'd prefer with his supper - they had some melons imported from Italy - and he'd all but leapt out of a window rather than answer her.

And Morgana kept going out of her way to brush against Merlin when they passed in corridors, which they had done quite a lot more often yesterday than they had for months. And whenever Morgana wasn't around, Gwen was. Smiling at him in mysterious and oddly suggestive ways. It was clearly a conspiracy between them to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible, probably because of his part in the whole 'get Gwen alone so Arthur can ask her some unspecified question' plot that kept Gwen from her essential if mysterious duties with Morgana's underthings.

He feels it was a little unfair of Gwen to get involved as well; after all, she could have said _no_ when he asked her if she was free after work. But anyway, for whatever reason, basically the only two people in the castle he can actually talk to except Gaius had suddenly gone extremely strange, and Merlin wanted quite badly to get away from them and get his head straight, because really it's quite hard to think in a constant atmosphere of sideways glances and perfume.

In the end he'd gone to Arthur's rooms and tidied and mended everything he possibly could, just to keep out of everyone's way, because Arthur, mercifully, had gone out training with the knights and neither Morgana nor Gwen was likely to just turn up at Arthur's rooms needlessly, despite apparently stalking Merlin through the corridors.

Eventually it had become colder and the sun had started going down so he lit the fire, thinking that he'd get out before Arthur came back, but the wood wouldn't catch the ordinary way, and despite the fact that he'd promised Gaius he wouldn't, well, how much could this one tiny spell hurt?

Of course, Merlin was halfway into the first syllable when Arthur decided to walk through the door, looking disturbingly delicious for someone so sweaty. Merlin immediately had to clamp a very tight lid on his magic, although surely he couldn't be held responsible for the flare it gave when Arthur adjusted his collar in a manner Merlin was trying very hard not to think about. At least the fire burnt properly after that.

Trying hard to be normal, he had asked in an nonchalant tone if Arthur required any help. Getting ready for bed. Oh God. It was a relief when Arthur, probably having noticed the ridiculous awkwardness, sent him away.

All of this combined had the effect of making Merlin sleep restlessly, with very energetic dreams, for the second night in a row.

'Merlin,' says Gaius, jerking him out of his glum reminiscences.

'Yes?' he asks, slumping at the table and eyeing the porridge suspiciously. 'If this is about Lady Margaret's posset, I swear, I meant to take it to her, but Arthur and Gwen-'

'It's not about the posset,' says Gaius, 'I took that to her myself.'

Merlin winces. Lady Margaret has a disturbing fondness for Gaius which makes the physician uncomfortable. Hence the nightly posset being Merlin's job. 'Sorry,' he says. 'What is it about, then?'

'The other night,' Gaius begins. 'Did Prince Arthur ... did he ask you to ...'

Oh. Gaius wants to know why he had visitors so late.

'Arthur asked me to ask Gwen back to my room. He had a question to ask her, or something,' says Merlin, shrugging. It suddenly occurs to him that Arthur never actually asked her a question, beyond 'how are you?' and saying her name in the curiously triumphant dirty way he always does, which Merlin isn't even sure he knows he's doing ...

'Ah.' Gaius now sounds even less pleased. 'After you left, did Prince Arthur and Guinevere -'

'We went back to his rooms, and he and Morgana had a screaming row, and she took Gwen away, and then Arthur and I -' Merlin blushes, although he fights hard to try and stop it happening. 'And then I came back here,' he amends.

Gaius is raising his eyebrow. This is a sure sign that something Merlin doesn't like is about to happen. The physician takes a deep breath, and says, 'Merlin, if Prince Arthur, or anyone else, orders you, or Gwen, to do ... things of a personal nature ... If he asks you for favours you would rather not give, you are not obliged to ... go through with them.'

Merlin suddenly realises what Gaius is actually talking about (well, thank heavens, because actually that was quite literal and Merlin likes to think he's not that dense), and feels heat rise inexorably to his face.

'No, no, it's nothing like that,' he says hurriedly, hoping to head Gaius off at the pass, as it were, but the old man is nothing if not determined, especially in matters of pursuing hard truths and passing on vital information.

'And Gwen? Arthur didn't make any untoward advances to her?'

'Not that I saw,' says Merlin uncomfortably. 'Gaius, he wouldn't do something like that.'

'No, of course not,' says Gaius equally uncomfortably. 'I just wanted to be sure that you know that if anyone asks, or orders, you to-'

'Then I'll knee them somewhere painful and leg it, Gaius, I promise,' says Merlin hurriedly. 'Good porridge today, mm, yummy,' he adds, hurriedly shovelling the stuff down in an attempt to be out of the room as soon as possible.

'And if you get yourself into a situation where you _want_ to do those kinds of things, it is my duty to provide you with a preparation that will ... ensure safety-'

'Lots of chores to do! Bye!' Merlin skitters out of the room so fast that he almost collides with the opposite wall of the corridor when the leather soles of his boots fail to grip the stone floor.

He works very hard that day, even scrubbing Arthur's floor, in the hope that manual labour will distract him from the knowledge that he _wants_ to do all _kinds_ of things.

Naturally, because the world is developing stunning timing where Merlin is concerned, Arthur chooses a moment when Merlin has his arse in the air to walk through the door.

'There you are,' says Arthur, for all the world as if it is completely normal to address comments to Merlin's arse. 'You weren't at training today. Don't you normally come and watch?'

'Normally, but I had more interesting diversions today, like the dirty floor in here,' says Merlin, getting off his knees and going to poke at the fire, which is going better this evening than it had last night, but you can never trust these things. It also has the advantage of meaning he's not looking directly at Arthur and so Arthur cannot see the stupid expressions he knows are flitting across his face, and the heat from the fire means that if Merlin's new-found propensity to blush hotly suddenly flares up, he can attribute it to the fire and thus escape further embarrassment.

'No doubt the knights will pine,' says Arthur offhandedly, sitting down. 'Are you going to serve me supper or is this some kind of barbarian help-yourself affair?'

'Coming, coming,' says Merlin, grabbing the pot of soup from the sideboard and going to present it to Arthur as quickly as possible, preferably without making eye contact, because he doesn't think he can actually look Arthur in the face without babbling terrible things like 'Gaius thinks we should practice safe sex,' and 'Last night I had a dream that involved you quite heavily and contained absolutely no clothing whatsoever.'

Arthur catches his wrist. 'Merlin,' he says quietly. 'About the other night.'

'Don't worry, I barely remember it, drank far too much, no head for wine, everyone says so,' Merlin says hurriedly. 'Do try the stew,' he adds, ladling soup onto Arthur's plate.

'I would if you were serving it to me,' says Arthur with a snort. His grip tightens on Merlin. 'Don't be an idiot, Merlin, you weren't that drunk.'

'Yes, well,' begins Merlin, not very coherently. He blushes - his circulatory system is not being cooperative. In more ways than one, he realises. Blast Arthur and his bad timing. He _would_ get tactile and then decide to remind Merlin of the events of the other night. 'Would you rather I _did_ remember, sire, and got all strange about it?'

'You're already strange, I hardly see that it makes that much difference.'

'Arthur,' says Merlin pleadingly, 'What do you want me to _say_?'

'I want you to be _normal_ again. Well. As normal as you can be. And to stop skulking in my rooms doing esoteric things with the fireplace.'

Merlin blanches guiltily at the use of the word 'esoteric', and then does a double-take. 'Wait, what? It's _you_ that's being strange! Mary in the kitchens said you nearly fell out the window when she tried to ask you about what you wanted with your lunch.'

'Is that the girl who tried to ask my opinion of, and I quote, her 'melons'? I didn't fall out of the window, I merely left the room with alacrity.'

'Not _her_ melons, you prat, she wanted to know if you wanted melon with your lunch - they've got some in the kitchens. God, you have the filthiest mind.'

'No, you know who has the filthiest mind?' asks Arthur suddenly. 'Morgana. She practically stripped in front of me!'

'What?' Merlin knew Morgana was capable of being extremely forward, but that's not just forward, it's ... well, it's quite _far_ forward, even if the stories the servants tell about the nobles and Beltane are true.

'Oh, well, she was behind her screen, but I could definitely see her shoulders. And Gwen was there with her ...'

'Arthur?' ventures Merlin tentatively, because well, yes, the image is appealing, and it seems to be affecting Arthur's ability to finish sentences, but really. 'Gwen's her _maid_. She's _supposed_ to help her do ... clothing things. Like I help you. Hah, imagine, if anyone were stupid enough to suggest that things were going on just because I help you on with your bree-'

'Shut up, Merlin,' says Arthur very quietly. He is now actually holding Merlin's hand, and he looks up at Merlin with an extremely intense expression on his face. 'This,' he says, apropos of nothing, 'is a very bad idea.'

'What is, Arthur? I mean, sire.'

'You only call me sire when you're worried,' points out Arthur.

'Well, you've never held my hand before,' says Merlin shakily. 'Last time you actually laid a finger on me, I nearly got run through by bandits shortly afterwards. And the time before that I think I was poisoned, and before that you were beating me with a mace and chain. Sorry for being, y'know, mildly apprehensive.'

'Oh, ye of little faith,' says Arthur. He stands up, still holding onto Merlin.

'You haven't touched your soup,' says Merlin in a high voice.

'Merlin,' says Arthur. 'You need a new pair of trousers.'

'What?'

'This pair,' says Arthur, 'shows everyone what you're thinking.'

In the moment that Merlin looks down and sees that, yes, the pressing erection he's had since Arthur took him by the wrist is entirely visible to anyone looking, and realises that in the chair, Arthur is roughly at Merlin's-groin-height, Arthur presses close and kisses him, once. Exploratory, peremptory. It takes less than a breath, a gentle press of tongue to Merlin's bottom lip, and Merlin gasps involuntarily and lets Arthur in briefly, before the prince pulls back and looks away.

'What-'

'A very bad idea,' whispers Arthur, and he will not meet Merlin's eyes properly. 'I can attend to myself from here, Merlin, you should go and get some sleep.'

As if Merlin will be able to sleep now.

It is still not the Walk of Shame, no matter what knowing looks Gaius levels at him.

***

Arthur knows it was actually the worst idea in the world to kiss his manservant. He kicks himself metaphorically, and the bedstead literally, as he wrestles himself out of his clothes and into his nightshirt. Then he has to hop around and curse the stony hardness of the wooden bedstead, and that _almost_ distracts him from the ghost-memory of Merlin's lips on his; soft, sweet, roughened by the wind, impossibly good.

Almost.

There's a knock at the door, and he bids whoever it is enter, mostly thinking it will be Merlin returning on some ridiculous pretext and that this is a relief because they can just get the blame and the recriminations over now, and he can order Merlin to be put in the stocks for insolence or something that will make their relationship make sense again in a sort of traditional master/servant way, and after that they'll be okay again. But it's not Merlin. It's Morgana, of all people, and Arthur is ridiculously aware of the fact that his knees are visible under the nightshirt. Knees are possibly the least attractive part of the human body, Arthur thinks mildly hysterically. This is not decent. He cannot be showing his knees to ladies.

He shoves away the memory of Morgana's shoulders and curses his brain for throwing that up in a montage of indecent body parts.

'Yes, Morgana?' he manages, a tad huffily, but then being interrupted in the act of going to bed and having to stand around and be gentlemanly in your nightshirt when you've been on your feet all day beating the laziness and the bad habits out of a bunch of green hopefuls is apt to do that to you.

'What on earth have you done to Merlin?' she asks, smiling at him. 'He ran past me like all the hounds of hell were on his trail. You haven't been threatening him with more 'combat practice', have you?'

'No,' says Arthur. He wishes she'd go away.

'Because you know the only reason you did it was to see him get sweaty in knight's gear.' Morgana's voice is suddenly a purr, and she's a lot closer than she had hitherto been. She looks up at him with a wicked, catlike smile.

'I ... resent that implication,' says Arthur stiffly.

'But you don't deny it.'

Arthur hesitates. The fact of the matter is, actually, he had genuinely tried to teach Merlin the rudiments of defending himself, but after a few goes it _had_ become distracting. So he stopped it. Besides, Merlin had enough chores to be getting on with, and he seemed to have the most extraordinary luck when it came to not getting hurt in situations involving monsters, bandits and ravening wild creatures.

'I thought not,' says Morgana. 'He's very pretty,' she adds.

'I thought we'd sorted out this not-despoiling-servants thing,' says Arthur wearily.

'No, we established that you're not 'attempting to seduce Guinevere'.' Her voice takes on a deep, mocking tone. _If this is your attempt at imitating me_, Arthur thinks, _you could at least try to mask the ridiculous accent_.

'If you're asking permission to tumble my manservant, I'd like to point out that if you must indulge, there are plenty of noblemen who wouldn't say no.' Arthur decides to take refuge in sarcasm.

'Is that a no?'

Sarcasm has failed. 'What?' Arthur asks bewilderedly. 'You actually-'

'Don't worry, Arthur, I won't usurp your prerogative,' says Morgana, and she takes one more step into him and tilts her head up and - oh.

Oh.

Well.

Arthur always sort of knew the bickering would end somewhere similar to this.

Morgana pulls back, licks her lips enticingly. 'If there's any tumbling going on, I'll make sure you're invited,' she says, and saunters away, leaving Arthur with a rather more pressing visibility issue than his knees, for the third night in a row. The iron self-control is really gone now. But then what kind of inhuman creature could hold on to iron self control in this situation?

He debates trying to ignore the situation again, kicks the bedstead one more time for good luck and winces at the sound the ball of his foot makes as it hits. Pain does not dull the edge of arousal, annoyingly.

Also, if he dozes off like this and rolls over, he might seriously impede bloodflow, and the idea of the royal appendage dropping off from constriction isn't pleasant. For a start, despite the lack of exercise it's getting now, Arthur's pretty certain that at some point in the hopefully not-so-distant future he'll be allowed, nay, _expected_ to be using the damned thing.

Arthur slides into the bed, settles himself just _so_, and takes matters in hand. It is ridiculous how good this feels, really, ridiculous how skin can make a man lose his control. The sight of it, even - _Morgana's shoulders, creamy white, bird-boned, ridiculously tempting_ \- but the touch of it, Merlin's lips, Morgana's -

Not so many years ago, the wide-eyed daughter of some nobleman made a clumsy pass at him by saying '_Surely_, Sire, a prince such as yourself can have _anything_ he wants ...'

Arthur had laughed, at the time, because it was so ridiculous. 'Of course I can,' he'd said, fitting a tight lid on his mirth. And he'd gone right on and had as much wine as his belly would take, leaving the nobleman's daughter still a maiden and the nobleman annoyed because he'd thought to have her entrap Arthur into marriage, and Uther both proud of and disgusted with his vomiting sot of a virginal son.

He can have whatever he wants, provided he doesn't want skin, hands, mouths. He can have anyone he wants, provided he just wants them to fetch and carry and fight and die.

The only hands he is allowed are his own, and he's denied himself for three nights because he _cannot_ be having thoughts of this kind about Morgana, or Merlin, or Gwen. Sweet Gwen, the only one of the three who hasn't _molested_ him today, dear, dear girl, he'd thank her but it'd be a tad strange, going up to a maid and saying 'By the way, much obliged for the way you haven't kissed me yet today ...'

God, his own frantic hands on his far-too-long-denied person, so very good. Don't think about how the hell you're going to face Merlin tomorrow, or Morgana, or even Gwen, because Morgana tells her far too much and Merlin does too, they're in league, those three, no, don't think about it-

Far too late but all too soon, Arthur brings himself off. Wiping his hand on the sheets, it suddenly hits him that Merlin will be taking these to the laundry, if not washing them himself. And that he will therefore be privy, somewhat second-hand, to Arthur's ... loss of self-control.

Oh God.

Burying his face in the pillow, Arthur wonders if you can die of sexual frustration and mortification simultaneously.

***

Gwen is peacefully sewing in Morgana's room the next morning when Merlin rushes in. He only remembers to check for the presence of Morgana halfway through the first sentence. Mercifully, she is out, because the first sentence is 'Gwen, help, Arthur kissed me last night, and I have no idea what to- wait, is Morgana here?'

Gwen's giggling is probably warranted, Merlin thinks, but a little hurtful all the same. She's always been so understanding when he brings life's little problems to her, like outfitting a commoner in knight's gear so that he can break the First Code of Camelot and become a knight, and finding a sword so Merlin can get it breathed on by a dragon, and helping Merlin rescue his entire village from bandits ... why should this be any different?

Once the giggles have calmed down, though, Gwen is the very soul of comforting, motherly advice. Just like Merlin knew she would be.

'Did you mind?' she asks first of all. 'I mean, did you want him to?' She must have seen his expression, because she continues 'Of course, I'll understand if you don't want to say, but it's sort of important, really, if you think about it.'

'I-' says Merlin, because he really kind of did, but it's sort of hard to admit that to someone you recently played the 'Arthur - would you if you could?' game with.

'I shouldn't have asked,' Gwen says immediately. 'Sorry. Um. Well, you could just sort of ignore it.'

'Gwen. He _kissed_ me,' says Merlin. 'And he was all-' Merlin flails, unable to really express in words the Arthur-ness of Arthur and how ignoring being kissed by Arthur would be like ignoring the fact that the sun rises and sets every damn day.

'I kissed you too, once,' says Gwen softly. 'Was I all?' She waves her hands vaguely in imitation, and shifts closer on the seat.

This is less comforting and motherly, mainly because Merlin _remembers_ that kiss, and it was _very_ all.

The nice thing about Gwen, apart from the fact that she's sweet and pretty and is possibly the nicest person in the world, is that she's _straightforward_. Merlin knows she likes him. And he likes her. Probably loves her, really, if he thinks about it, because how could he not love her, after everything they've been through? How could he not?

And so he pushes away the worrying thought that he really kind of loves prattish, stupid, noble Arthur as well, and kisses her. Properly, this time, a kiss they're both paying attention for and neither of them has just been dragged from the jaws of death, so there's less mysterious musty sickbed smell and he can catch a whiff of something floral, and clean linen, and really _appreciate_ how soft and how warm her mouth is, how generous she is in this, encouraging Merlin - unlike Arthur who just grabbed what he wanted, but in such a way as to make Merlin thirst to give him more.

You're not supposed to think about other kisses when having a kiss, but somehow it doesn't seem altogether too odd, or like something Gwen would object overly to ... and Merlin loses himself in kiss after kiss, Gwen's needlework forgotten and Merlin's stress over Arthur's reactions lost in a swirl of pleasure and relief.

'Well, this is as pretty as a picture,' says Morgana, suddenly, in Merlin's ear, and he jerks backwards in surprise. Morgana has to duck speedily to avoid the back of Merlin's skull connecting with the bridge of her nose.

'Lady Morgana!' says Merlin, ashamed of how squeaky his voice is.

'Hello,' she says, raising an eyebrow. 'Comfy, are we?'

Gwen is still holding both of Merlin's hands entwined in her own, and Morgana has one hand on his shoulder and one is snaking around his waist.

'Argle,' would be a rough approximation of the only response Merlin finds himself capable of making.

Gwen and Morgana are grinning at each other.

'Okay,' Merlin begins when he has his vocal chords under control again. 'What's happening?' He tries for a friendly, non-accusing pitch. Unfortunately it still comes out as if he's got absolutely no male parts whatsoever, but at least he can form words.

Oh, wait, no, he _definitely_ has male parts. Yes, there they are. All ... beckoning for attention.

Merlin suddenly finds himself hoping desperately that both girls are far more unobservant than he would ordinarily give them credit for. Clearly, the world has gone mad. This is some kind of bizarre enchantment, obviously, and he needs to get out of here at _once_ and find Gaius and sort it out, and unless the magic book has a memory-wiping spell it would really be best if Morgana didn't put her hand ... right there.

Damn it.

'So, Merlin,' says Morgana, with her hand in _places_ and her breath hot in the shell of Merlin's ear. 'Gwen and I were talking the other day-'

It is quite hard to pay attention to Morgana when Gwen is kissing him again. And, yes, alright, maybe Morgana is speaking right into his ear, but think about that another way. She is _speaking right into his ear_. Breathing. All warm and moist and ... argle.

'- and we thought perhaps -'

Eventually it transpires, after a long and convoluted explanation which seemed to involve an awful lot of clothing removal - Merlin still has his breeches on, but only just, and Gwen's chemise is still there but the overdress is long gone; Morgana still has on the clothing she came in wearing but given that's the gown with the curious gold neck-thing, and no shoulders, and practically nothing underneath, this doesn't count for much - that Gwen and Morgana think that everyone's best interests could be served, uh, best, if instead of being apart, as it were, they were all ... together. All four of them - Gwen, Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur. Specifically, together _in bed_.

Merlin has to admit, they've got quite a good list of points. And a very persuasive way of presenting them.

For one thing, Morgana had said as she'd worked his shirt off, stupidly, stupidly slowly, it's blatantly obvious that he, Merlin, wants all three of the others. He has to agree, after she's done kissing him and he's got his breath back, that he's not very subtle about the whole staring issue. Admittedly he'd probably agree to anything after a display like that, but that's beside the point. He does stare. He is a staring starer. Probably no-one has ever stared so blatantly in Camelot before.

Funnily enough, he'd thought (or rather, had worried that) the pointing and doing magic would be the thing they'd pick up on first, but then again, he was trying to hide _that_, whereas the staring kind of wasn't quite as important in the 'Keep It Secret' stakes. Perhaps he should be a bit more obvious about the magic, though, if the reaction to people working out his secrets is them jumping him? No, God, that's a stupid idea. So ... wait. While he's been watching all of them, they've been watching him?

He keeps wanting to call this a plot, and he's supposed to foil plots that involve Arthur, really, isn't he? Isn't that supposed to be his destiny?

'Merlin, calling it a plot makes it seem like you're not keen,' says Morgana, reaching down. 'And I think we can both agree that that's not true.'

'It's nothing he wouldn't _like_, after all,' says Gwen quietly, smiling to herself. 'I don't think this counts as one of those evil plots.'

Merlin thinks hazily that the Dragon was very specific about there only being two sides to this supposed coin, but then decides that he doesn't care what the scaly old pervert thinks.

'But ... with the ... the other night, when we were all in my room ... he thinks you're trying to keep Gwen away from him,' Merlin says, attempting to wriggle a hand under Morgana's neckline.

'Of course he does. The only way to get Arthur to do anything you want him to do is to forbid him from doing it,' Morgana says, grinning and reaching up to unclasp the collar of the dress. 'I learnt that years ago - Gwen? A hand?'

Of course, Gwen giving Morgana a hand with the dress doesn't end with the fastenings. Merlin, of course, is very much on-board with this.

Somehow they've made their way to Morgana's airily-curtained bed, and the two girls have settled either side of Merlin, who thinks he might just be about to faint from too much of everything, but that would mean closing his eyes, and he's really ... not quite ready to do that.

Gwen points out reasonably soon after this, as she guides Merlin's tentative hands around her body, that it's not good to be, you know, all ... frustrated. Nor is it good to be selfish, or conflicted. Divided loyalties can be really bad, she says earnestly, leaning into his embrace. It wouldn't be nice to make any of them think they had to choose. Because master/servant relationships are such a delicate balance, really, they all ought to understand that, but if it were just Arthur and Morgana, Merlin and Gwen, well, that would just breed jealousies, wouldn't it, because Gwen couldn't _bear_ to be parted from Morgana for long - and she illustrates this now. Merlin lies back and watches, agape, as they kiss slowly, eyes open, watching him all the way through it. He has to palm himself, can't be without friction because _really_, he's only human.

'And we both know Arthur will never give you up, even to a lover,' says Morgana as they break apart. 'And I don't think you could let him go either. Could you?'

'There's plenty of space for him,' says Gwen, tracing a finger down Merlin's naked thigh. He can't remember when he lost his breeches. He doesn't care, because he has both hands under Gwen's chemise.

He has Morgana nestled behind him and Gwen in front, a glorious tangle of limbs and bits of clothing and soft, wonderful-smelling hair. He has the memory of Arthur's lips on his.

'All right,' he says, breathing the words slowly into Gwen's ear, feeling Morgana press up against him. 'Maybe I'm open to a little plotting.'

***

Arthur paces around his chamber. Where in hell's name is his manservant? He's got himself dressed and sent, angrily, for breakfast to be brought to his room (because while he'd like to make a point to Merlin when he finally arrives, he can't _think_ over the sound of his growling stomach), all while pushing away the thought that he might have possibly shot himself in the foot twice - first by kissing Merlin and then by saying out loud that it was a bad idea. That cannot have exactly helped un-confuse Merlin, who, let's be honest here, is not the sharpest spear in the rack. It also probably hasn't done a great deal for the believability of the argument that the whole thing was just an unfortunate conjunction of stimuli and wine.

Pounding footsteps on the stone floor outside alert Arthur to the fact that someone is running towards his room. Hopefully not with his breakfast - carrying food at that pace never ends well - but then it's probably Merlin, he thinks. Almost certainly, Merlin suddenly remembering his duties and rushing to be at Arthur's side.

When the person finally gets to the door, (it's a long, echoey corridor and Arthur has good hearing despite all the being bashed in the head whilst wearing a metal helmet with stunningly good acoustics) they knock. Ergo, it's not Merlin.

Arthur sighs and tries not to swear. 'Come in,' he says.

'Prince Arthur,' pants the servant. 'Lady Morgana asks that you attend her in her chambers on a matter of utmost urgency.'

Arthur, hearing the tone of voice, instinctively grabs for his sword. Then he remembers that Morgana usually inspires that terrified pitch in male servants, puts down the sword, thinks again, checks that he's got his knife, and heads for the door, sweeping past the servant.

There's giggling coming from Morgana's room, Arthur notices as he knocks at the door.

Gwen opens it. There is a smile on her face, and though he knows, he _knows_ he mustn't notice such things about Morgana's maid, he sees the haphazard way her hair is arranged and the tender fullness of her lips - fuller than they usually are, something he ought not to be able to tell, but he can - and with his mind currently so preoccupied with ignoring one particular inappropriate topic, naturally that's the conclusion that springs to mind. God, she looks so very ...

'Guinevere,' he says, knowing his voice catches and purrs around the last syllable. He can't help it. He likes to say her name, particularly likes her reaction to it. How is it that she's the only one of the three he hasn't kissed yet?

'Arthur,' comes a tart Irish accent from across the room, and there is Morgana, looking not one whit like there has been any kind of urgent matter, and certainly not like she needs extra attendance, what with the fact that Arthur's useless, gawky, curiously _at ease_ manservant is standing far too close to her.

'Morgana,' says Arthur, beginning to formulate the correct form of words to protest her monopolising all the servants.

'Merlin,' says Merlin brightly. 'Now that we're all acquainted-' He wilts under the force of Arthur's death-glare.

'This,' says Arthur, fixing his eyes on Morgana, 'had better be good.'

'Oh, it was,' says Morgana, licking her lips. Arthur's gaze travels, completely by itself, he swears, from the twisted neckline of her dress to the state of Merlin's hair and shirt and back to Gwen's warm, glowing face, and his brain puts together some essential pieces, maybe leaps a few chasms of deductive logic on the way, and ends up at a conclusion.

He blushes so hard it almost hurts - the sudden rush of heat to his face is ridiculous, and he turns, meaning to leave and, preferably, never speak of this again.

'I promised I'd invite you,' Morgana calls after him, and he almost, _almost_ turns around and points out that, actually, she promised to invite him to the initial despoiling, not the sequel. But he decides not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him react.

'Arthur,' calls Merlin, mildly despairingly, but all it does is spur Arthur on.

Gwen says nothing, or at least, says nothing loud enough for Arthur to hear over the hammering of his heart and the smacking of his boots on the stone floor. And the smacking of Merlin's boots as well, actually, because the idiot is following him.

He's not idiot enough to try and stop Arthur on the way back to Arthur's rooms, but as soon as Arthur shuts the door, Merlin opens it and steps inside.

'Knocking. One of those conversations we apparently cannot have too often,' Arthur says coldly. His breakfast has been delivered while that little errand was being run, so he sits down to it. Merlin hovers.

'Arthur, you've got to listen to me,' he says. 'We-'

'I,' Arthur begins angrily, putting down his spoon, 'am the Crown Prince of Camelot, and therefore I do _not_ have to listen to you. You're a servant, what you do on your own time is, I suppose, no business of mine. What Gwen does at any point in time is no business of mine, and Morgana's affairs, unless they threaten the kingdom somehow, are certainly not my business. However, the mornings are not your time. They are my time, in which I require your services. I expect you to remember this before you-'

'Arthur,' says Merlin angrily. 'Just. God. Shut up.'

And then Merlin kisses him. Just once, hard, leaning over the table to reach. His stupid, ridiculous kerchief brushes Arthur's plate as he straightens up.

'You wanted this. Yesterday. Yesterday, you - you didn't even ask me, you just - And Morgana said she kissed you, and you wanted that too. And anyone can see, you and Gwen, there's something.'

'Nonsense,' says Arthur roughly. He pushes away from the table and stands. 'Whatever you _think_ I might want, you're wrong.'

'I know you, Arthur,' says Merlin quietly, stepping right into Arthur's space, looking at him steadily, so much _meaning_ in his blue eyes. 'I know when you're lying.' Arthur wants, badly wants, to just give in and say 'yes, yes, I do, I want all three of you. I think I can guess what you were up to while my breakfast was being neglected and I had to hop around the room getting my own trousers on because I'm not used to having to do that without leaning on someone else for balance, and I'd rather like to join in', but he _can't_. There's too much power, too much politics in sex. This is going to end in quite stupid amounts of wine and vomiting, but that way's safer.

But he can't find the words with Merlin looking at him like that. Merlin tilts his head, looks at Arthur from under his lashes, and kisses him again. And again. 'Please, Arthur,' he says against Arthur's lips. 'Please. This can work.'

'It can't,' says Arthur, pushing his manservant away. 'Do you want to know why? Really?'

Merlin steps back, lets Arthur sit back down. He nods.

'Fine. You should listen to this, you might learn something. For a start, Merlin, there is the ever-present spectre of pregnancy. Imagine the scandal were you or I to get Gwen, let alone Morgana, with child out of wedlock. Just for a second, imagine that.'

Merlin opens his mouth. 'Gaius has a - a potion, for that-'

'And supposing it fails?'

'There are other ways to enjoy yourself, Arthur,' says Morgana, sweeping into the room. Arthur swears, and lets his head drop into his hands.

'Morgana,' he says, muffled and sarcastic. 'How charming to have you here for this discussion. Please, pull up a seat. Yes, there may be other ways -' and here Arthur's brain, finally catching up with events, starts wondering what these other ways are. Intriguing, really, because as much as he's Not Thought about the subject, Arthur's only ever really considered one basic way to go about things, which is that a portion of one person goes into another portion of another, and therein lies the danger. What other ways? his brain asks eagerly, even as his mouth continues on with the sentence '- but, really, are any of you really naive enough to think that what goes on behind closed doors stays there? There are political aspects, power-plays-'

'You sound like Uther,' says Morgana, making his father's name out to be a dirty word, as usual. 'This is us we're talking about, Arthur. Do you really think that any of the three of us would try and influence you to some decision because we're in bed that we wouldn't try for at any other time?'

'You can trust us,' says Gwen quietly from the doorway. She edges around the threshold, pads across the floor to perch next to Merlin on the edge of Arthur's bed (and how presumptuous is that, honestly?).

'Arthur, with us you can get around all that,' says Merlin. 'We don't care that you're the prince. We don't want your power.'

'Or your influence,' says Morgana, mildly scornfully.

'We just want you,' finishes Gwen.

Arthur looks from one to the other, trying to decide. To decide if they're serious, if they've thought this through enough. And, ultimately, to decide how much he wants this, and how much he trusts them.

A lot, he thinks, cursing silently, as he looks from face to face, faces he's seen in peril and in battle, faces of people he knows like he knows his right hand. People he has always been able to depend upon, ever since Merlin came to Camelot and shook everything around Arthur up in the air. He wants them, and he trusts them, and he isn't strong enough to resist that.

_Surely, sire, a Prince such as yourself can have anything he wants?_

With a snarl, Arthur throws himself at Merlin. He's dimly aware of Gwen squeaking and moving away, which, fine, but he hopes she'll come back at some point. Right now though, he's frustrated and angry and something has mildly snapped in his head and he thinks it would probably be best to take this out on Merlin first because Merlin's a man, at least nominally, and so can presumably handle it, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Merlin was looking at him with an expression Arthur last caught him using when looking at a haunch of venison, and licking his lips.

Arthur knows what those lips taste like, but not what they feel like when everyone involved is enthusiastic, and after the initial flailing and falling backwards into the quilt, Merlin is responding very enthusiastically.

'I knew he'd give in,' says Morgana smugly somewhere close, and then the bed dips. Merlin, by inexorable application of pressure to Arthur's collarbones, manages to get them both up and sitting and Arthur detached from Merlin's mouth.

Arthur wipes his lips on the back of his hand and looks around. He's surrounded by Morgana, looking triumphant, Gwen, looking inordinately happy, and Merlin, looking halfway-debauched already, leaning back against the pillows.

'I think he's got the general idea,' says Merlin, licking his lips.

'How does this-' begins Arthur, unsure of what, exactly, happens now. Morgana cuts him short by leaning over, brushing around Arthur to get to Merlin. She kisses the manservant teasingly, looking at Arthur the whole time. Merlin has, while Arthur's been distracted, somehow divested Gwen of her overgown. It must be some manservantly skill, because Arthur could swear that he hadn't looked away for more than the space of a second, but now he's distracted again because Gwen's form is blatantly clear through the thin linen, and Morgana's removing her own gown, more helped than hindered by Merlin's eager hands but only just, and Arthur wants _so badly_ to join in but isn't sure of the correct ... form. Protocol. Something.

The other three seem to notice this, and before he can even draw another breath Arthur has Gwen behind him, soothing hands down his ribs, tickling and teasing, encouraging him to lean back, while Morgana kisses him, works on his shirt, and Merlin, who is after all male, and must _know_ how constricted Arthur is feeling, goes straight for the breeches. Somehow Merlin's own are gone already.

"How did you-?' Arthur manages to get out, looking at Merlin, but it seems that the girls are determined to not let him speak, not let him _think_, and he doesn't manage to finish the sentence.

Merlin knows what he means, though, somehow, and he wiggles his fingers conspiratorially and whispers, 'Magic,' darkly and secretly before laughing and ducking his head between Arthur's legs.

Arthur gasps in shock.

'All a bit new, is it?' asks Morgana wickedly, extricating Gwen from behind Arthur and yanking off her chemise. Everyone, it appears, is naked now and the girls encircle Arthur, pressing up against him and reaching over him to get to each other. Merlin's still doing things that make Arthur pant and groan - how does he _breathe_ like that? - but he's shifted round a bit and has one hand being guided by Gwen towards Morgana.

Merlin pulls himself back up and gasps at Arthur that he's got two hands, for God's sake, use them, and the sight of that mouth all red and wet and grinning so obscenely at him galvanises Arthur into action - he grabs Merlin and crushes him close, kissing frantically while worming a hand between their bodies.

Merlin jerks back with a moan and another grin. 'Calm down, Arthur,' he says wickedly, edging away, going to kiss Morgana instead and leaving Arthur to the tender mercies of Gwen.

Kissing Gwen is everything he thought it would be. Arthur cannot keep his hands off her, and for a while he loses himself in this one kiss, feeling her squirm against him and knowing exactly what he wants to do but can't because of the whole aforementioned children issue, until with a little hazy sound Gwen takes his hand from where it is and puts it where she wants it.

'Stop monopolising my maidservant,' Morgana says suddenly, and Arthur finds other fingers sliding past his own, and Morgana kisses them both, imperiously and demandingly, and just when Arthur's got used to that, Merlin slides up behind him. He's hard, God, so hard, pressing against Arthur's hip. Arthur has to see what he looks like, after all the trouser idiocy earlier or the other day or whenever it was, so he rolls over, leaving Morgana and Gwen to giggle and sigh at each other again. He looks down, swallows _hard_, pretends he's not nervous - which is a lie, he's nervous, he's been nervous since they got his shirt off, but at least Gwen and Morgana are girls and he's got a vague idea of how to proceed with their anatomy, whereas Merlin's male and no-one's ever sat him down and given him the burningly embarrassing talk about When You Consummate Your Continental Free-Love Partnership With Your Male Manservant - and takes Merlin in hand.

It's bizarre how familiar and yet how alien this feels, is Arthur's first thought, but his second thought goes out the window when two soft, slender, feminine hands wrap around his own anatomy, and although he can't see them because they're both entangled behind him, Arthur has this sense that Gwen and Morgana are grinning at each other again.

'So ... this was all your idea, Morgana,' Arthur pants. 'I ought to have known.'

'Not all,' says Morgana, curiously muffled. 'Gwen had some ... inspirational parts to add.'

'And what was your part in all this, Merlin?' asks Arthur, trying to come across as stern, but Merlin's strained face and open mouth are undoing him as surely as the giggling behind him and the hands on his skin.

'I - I thought they were trying to - drive me mad,' gasps Merlin. 'First I thought it was a hallucination, then I thought it was a coincidence-'

'Then he thought it was a plot,' splutters Gwen, laughing.

'He said he had to foil all plots involving you,' says Morgana. 'He's so _loyal_.'

'I have to admit I'm not sad he failed in this one,' Arthur murmurs, wriggling back towards the tangled mass of girl behind him and trying to drag Merlin in with him.

'I tried!' Merlin says indignantly and breathlessly. 'But they were too ... strong for me?'

Arthur laughs. He doesn't even know what he's doing anymore - his hands are busily engaged, he knows that, and one is somewhere warm and wet and someone, he thinks maybe Gwen, is mewling inarticulately at him, and the other one definitely has someone's breast in it, but whose he cannot for the life of him tell, and there are at least two hands and a mouth on various portions of his anatomy at any given point in time, but he's lost track of whose and where, and somewhere off to his left a sudden gasp seems to indicate that Merlin's either just experienced something incredibly wonderful or has in fact been assassinated, but Arthur doesn't actually have the attention span to concentrate on everything that's happening in the bed _and_ an assassin so he makes a vague mental note to put up a plaque or something to his heroic manservant, died while on the job - and he sniggers awfully, childishly, at that - when a mouth with stubble makes its way up his abdomen and he thinks 'ah, not assassinated after all, excellent, good show - oh, God, do that _again_' ...

'Overpowered by women, eh Merlin?' Arthur eventually manages to say.

'_Naked_ women,' Merlin retorts. 'You would have been too.'

'He would have been anyway,' manages Morgana from the other side of the bed. 'Hasn't he told you about when I used to beat him at sword practice?'

'That never happened!'

***

When Merlin finally, finally, manages to get out of the bed, pleading Gaius' wrath should he get no work done today, Arthur issues a royal proclamation that Merlin is never allowed to leave the bed again, and come to think of it, neither are Gwen and Morgana either. He then drags Merlin back in, despite the latter's desperate attempts to get his trousers back on. Morgana responds to the proclamation by hitting Arthur viciously with a pillow, and Gwen joins in, gesturing furiously at Merlin to run while Arthur is thus engaged.

Walking is interesting, Merlin thinks, and he might have possibly strained his shoulder while trying to reach around someone for someone else, but then again he's pretty certain Arthur's going to have some curious muscle-strains to hide during thumping-each-other practice with the knights tomorrow, and Gwen and Morgana may have got away with no marks visible in places people can see, but there are going to be an awful lot of questions about how Gwen dislocated her right index finger, and about the lump on the back of Morgana's head where she and the headboard got a bit frisky when Arthur and Merlin both decided to have a noise-inducing competition and Gwen decided that she didn't want to be left out either.

He practically waltzes past Gaius's bemused eyebrow-raising. It has no power over him right now. This walk is anything but the Walk of Shame. Anything but.


End file.
